


You’re the One that I Want

by beef_wonder3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Birth, Destiny, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2009-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beef_wonder3/pseuds/beef_wonder3
Summary: Michael chooses his Vessel
Kudos: 1





	You’re the One that I Want

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009

_The 61st Day of Fall two thousand and five years after the Father’s Son was born._  
  
“And may I ask what this mission is for?” Zachariah asked a little sulkily, miffed at being brought along only to observe.  
The Archangel Michael did not open his eyes as he answered his younger brother,  
“Our Father has instructed me to seek a vessel to mark as my own.”  
  
“Does this mean something… significant is happening?” the other Angel inquired eagerly. “Because the last time you were on Earth….”  
  
“I’m well aware what occurred the last time I walked the Earth, Zachariah,” Michael informed him sharply, “He did not say anything as such but, yes, perhaps there is a reason Our Father my presence among humans.”  
  
“Perhaps?” Zachariah pressed.  
  
Michael frowned. This conversation was not helping him concentrate.  
“We have our orders, Zachariah,” Michael stated, “It is not our place to question why we have them.”  
  
Zachariah fell silent with the slight rebuke and Michael turned his complete focus back to Earth, searching for the soul he needed.  
  
Michael searched through the billions of souls flitting around him, within him, looking for The One. Sounds filled his ears, his mind, with prayers and songs, laughter and cries, rain and sun, all the sounds that expressed love and hate, joy and sadness, anger and peace. The emotions and shining light of the human soul were almost overwhelming, Michael thought, so caught up in everything he saw and heard he almost missed the roar of power that vibrated through his Grace.  
  
Michael halted himself in his search and chased that fleeting tug. He found the roar again, twangs and passionate reverberations overlapping it. The sensation of racing the wind washed over Michael. He reached out for the soul, for the human. He felt the pride, the compassion, the intense loyalty and devotion and love. The feelings of betrayal and loss, the isolation and sheer loneliness. The desire and the need and the fierce protectiveness.  
  
This soul was a soldier, like himself. This soul was The One he was looking for.  
  
‘Yes’ Michael thought, ‘This will be my vessel.’  
Michael held onto this soul and looked into the humans core. Yes, this was the one he wanted, the feeling , the connection of the match just as right as the young herder had been many years ago. This soul. This human. This…  
  
“Dean Winchester.” Michael said aloud to Zachariah, “Dean Winchester will be my vessel.”  
  
“Will you ask him to receive you?” Zachariah asked. Michael shook his head,  
  
“No. The Father said it is not time yet. He will inform me when it is time for Dean to know me. That time is not now. But,” Michael said, pulling away from Earth, though still keeping grasp of Dean Winchester’s timeline. “I want to go back. To the beginning. There are things I wish to do, to prepare. Follow me.”  
  
“Do you require assistance.” Zachariah asked, feigning meekness.  
  
“No I do not.” Michael replied. “I request your presence, Zachariah, because I wish it and I will ask something of you, given your position of leader of your Garrison. Now, come.” Zachariah nodded and followed the superior Angel through time.  
  
*  
  
 _The 55th Day of Winter, One thousand nine hundred and seventy nine years after the Father’s Son was born._  
  
“Push! Push! Push!” the doctor commanded.  
“I’ll push YOU in a minute!” Mary screamed at the medico. She fell back against the pillows, panting hard in her reprieve.  
  
“Just a little more, Mary.” John coaxed, squeezing the hand he had clasped in his.  
  
“I can’t.” Mary cried to her husband, “I can’t do it. It’s too much.”  
  
“Yes you can.” John informed her with conviction, “you’re the strongest person I know. Just a little more. You can do it.”  
  
Mary just nodded, delirious with pain and medication.  
  
“Okay Mary,” instructed the doctor again, “last time. On the count of three. 1, 2, 3, PUSH!”  
  
Mary threw her head back and screamed as she was torn in two.  
  
Hazy seconds later someone called out,  
“It’s a boy!” A broken, reedy wail pierced through the exhausted fog in Mary’s mind.  
  
“A boy.” Mary muttered shakily.  
  
“A boy, Mary!” John whispered excitedly to her, sweeping her hair off her sweaty forehead. “We have a little boy. We have a son!”  
  
Mary gazed up at John groggily, tears forming in her eyes, matching the joyous ones in his.  
“Yeah.” She breathed out. She turned her attention to the flurry of people milling around her and held out her arms, “My baby.” She demanded.  
  
Someone, a nurse or doctor, Mary didn’t know or particularly care, placed the squalling child in her arms. His cries quietened as she cradled him against her chest.  
“He’s so tiny.” John whispered in awe.  
  
And he was; small and red, his little face scrunched up in extreme displeasure, teeny eyes clamped tightly closed. He was the most exquisitely beautiful thing Mary had ever seen.  
  
“Have you picked out a name yet?” a nurse asked the new parents as she busied around them.  
  
Mary raised her eyes to John’s and felt her heart swell.  
“Yes.” John said with a soft smile, his eyes gazing between Mary and their son. Mary looked down at the boy bundled against her chest and whispered reverently,  
  
“Hi Dean.”  
  
  
  
“This is what you needed to go backwards for?” Zachariah asked, slightly disgruntled.  
Michael ignored him. It wasn’t the first time either.  
  
“He is Chosen.” Michael said. “Now I wish to speak to her.”  
  
Michael flew through the waves of time again, expecting Zachariah to follow.  
  
Which he did, trailing behind,  
“Speak to whom?”  
  
*  
  
 _The 1st day of Fall, One thousand nine hundred and seventy eight years after the Father’s Son was born._  
  
Michael watched. He watched the woman, Mary, and he waited. He watched her begin her day, through breakfast with her husband, to work, to lunch with her colleagues, as she returned home and again dined with her husband. Michael waited patiently, Zachariah; less patiently, until Mary slept. Then Michael approached her in the dreams.  
  
“Hello Mary.” A familiar voice woke her. Mary sat up and immediately stilled in shock for a breath before her hand dived behind her bedside cabinet.  
  
“Please Mary. Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.” Michael told her in the gentle, feminine voice he had guised.  
  
Mary glared, her hand coming up empty.  
“Who the fuck are you then? And why do you look like my Mother?” Mary glanced at the bed beside her, at John, still fast asleep.  
  
The Archangel replied calmly, still standing before her,  
“I look like your mother, so I could speak to you with a familiar, and comforting, form. I am Michael and I am an Angel of The Lord.”  
  
Mary snorted,  
“Yeah okay, Michael.” Mary said, obviously torn between disbelief and wariness. She cast another side-long glance at the sleeping form beside her.  
  
“Your husband will not wake.” Mary looked at the image of her deceased mother again, surprised, “For the same reason your weapon was not there when you reached for it.”  
  
A look of dawning crossed Mary’s face,  
“I’m dreaming.” She stated.  
“Yes.”  
“So… this isn’t real?”  
  
“Oh, this is very real, Mary. I am real.” Michael felt that he was beginning to make her understand as slight awe began to creep over the scepticism on the young woman’s face.  
  
Taking a seat on the bed, facing Mary, Michael spoke again,  
“I’m here to tell you something.”  
  
“What is it?” She asked, still quite wary.  
  
“The child you carry is special.” Michael told her plainly.  
  
Mary’s eyebrows shot to her hairline,  
“I’m not having the next Jesus am I?” She blurted out.  
  
Michael was amused. If that were so, Gabriel would’ve have been sent instead. Michael didn’t mention that though, instead he said,  
“No my dear, you are not. But your son will be important in The Lords plans.”  
  
A flash of anger and fear replace Mary’s shock.  
“My- my son? No. No he can’t be special. My baby is going to be normal. He’s going to have a normal life.” Mary demanded defiantly.  
  
Michael smiled softly at her conviction.  
The Angel reached out a hand and brushed his fingers over Mary’s cheek. Michael froze as a horrid chill swept through his Grace. Evil had touched this woman. Evil had marked her and clamped tightly to her soul.  
  
“Mary,” Michael asked her gently, “give me your hands.”  
  
Mary’s anger at his earlier words was still evident but held out her hands anyway.  
Michael took them in his own, closed his eyes and touched her soul.  
  
And he saw.  
  
Her past; the death of her parents, the desperate deal for the man she loved.  
And her future; evil claiming her, consuming her. The children she’ll leave behind. Children. Not just Dean. A second child will be born and then… and then…  
  
Michael frowned. He could not see beyond the flames that will tear this family apart. The flames as Mary’s debt is claimed.  
  
Michael reached deeper and the burgeoning spark of the soul of Mary’s unborn reached up to him and showed him more.  
  
Young boys learning to fight, learning revenge, learning to protect. Young Men fighting a battle to close old wounds, fighting to survive, clutching each other, trying not to drown in their losses.  
  
And he saw.  
  
He saw his Chosen. Loving, protecting, saving. Using everyday and every sacrifice to fulfil his duties, keep his promises.  
  
Michael pulled back with a worried frown. It was unfortunate. Mary’s deal ripping her away from her children. Michael could do nothing. What was done; was done. And what would occur; would occur, events already set in motion. Interference was not the Mission.  
  
“Is this supposed to be doing something?” Mary asked the frowning figure of her ‘mother’ with slight annoyance.  
  
Michael opened his eyes again and at the perturbed young mother.  
“I have delivered my message, Mary. It is time for me to leave.”  
  
“Okay.” Mary said slowly, taking her hands back. “This was… strange.”  
  
Michael smile turned sad,  
“I’m sorry Mary. I must tell you, I cannot make you promises nor can I offer you protection. But know this, child,” Michael rested a hand on her protruding belly, “Your Sons will be magnificent. And we will be watching.”  
  
With those last words Michael removed himself from her sleeping mind.  
  
  
  
Mary’s eyes snapped open suddenly and she lied very still, listening to John snore and blood thud through her ears. The dream had been so vivid. Mary replayed the conversation before presenting a curiously confused question to the dark room,  
“Sons?”  
  
  
  
“Have you done what you required?” Zachariah questioned when Michael returned. The impatience and impertinence in his tone clear. Michael shot him a warning look,  
“Just one more thing.”  
  
*  
  
 _The 3rd day of Summer One thousand nine hundred and seventy nine years after the Father’s Son was born._  
  
“Goodnight Dean. Sleep tight.” Mary whispered to the baby in her arms.  
  
Michael smiled, even though she could not see him. Seeing him was not necessary for her to know he was there.  
Michael stretched out his presence as Zachariah stayed observant and, blessedly, quiet, beside him. Mary tensed fiercely as she felt his first touch but Michael swept a calm feeling over her and she relaxed.  
  
Mary glanced around the room once then turned her attention back to Dean as he kicked his tiny feet against the soft blue blanket.  
“I love you. Remember; the Angels are watching over us.”  
  
She kissed her son’s forehead and settled him in his crib while he contentedly experimented with gurgling sounds.  
  
  
“Now,” Michael said to Zachariah, “we can go.”  
  
*  
  
 _The 61st Day of Fall two thousand and five years after the Father’s Son was born._  
  
“You seem unsettled.” Zachariah stated once they had removed themselves from the streams of time.  
“Perhaps,” Michael replied, indeed unsettled. “it seems I cannot connect with an uncomplicated vessel.”  
  
Zachariah snorted,  
“All the mud-monkeys are complicated.”  
  
Michael snapped his head to glare at Zachariah fiercely, offended by his brothers words,  
“Those ‘mud monkeys’ grew out of our Fathers greatest creation.” Michael reprimanded him, voice hard as diamonds, “They are exquisite and free and evolved into our Fathers image from the humblest of beginnings. You should show some respect.”  
  
Zachariah ducked his head, cowed.  
“My apologies. I meant no disrespect to Our Father.”  
  
Michael continued to glare, unappeased by the apology.  
“See that it doesn’t happen again. Now,” Michael changed the subject, “I need one of our brothers or sisters from your Garrison for a mission of indeterminable time.”  
  
“Uriel is a good warrior.” Zachariah suggested, unwilling to question his brother’s authority again.  
  
“I need more that just a warrior, Zachariah.” Michael said, “besides, Uriel is stubborn.”  
  
“Sometimes stubborn can be a good quality in an Angel, Michael.” Zachariah defended.  
  
Michael raised an eyebrow at him,  
“Anayl thought so too, Zachariah. Or have you forgotten why you got your promotion?”  
  
“No. No I haven’t.” Zachariah replied hastily. “I only suggested him because Uriel is my best.”  
  
“Well, who is your second best?”  
  
Zachariah hesitated, knowing he could not lie to a superior Angel.  
“Castiel,” he said finally, “He is a good soldier and he is, quite easily, the most devoted. But he has less experience on Earth than some-“  
  
Michael cut him off again,  
“Castiel will be fine. Please pass on my request to see him.”  
  
Zachariah clamped his mouth shut and turned to leave when Michael stopped him, “And Zachariah?”  
He turned back to the Archangel.  
“Castiel is not, nor any of our other brothers or sisters, to know of my Mission this day. Understood?”  
  
Zachariah nodded and went in search of their brother.  
  
Michael closed his eyes as he waited and reached out again.  
This time it was much easier to find the roar, the exhilaration, the passion of his soul.  
“Hello Dean.”  
  
*  
  
 _The 61st Day of Fall two thousand and five years after the Father’s Son was born._  
  
“Zachariah said you wished to see me?” Castiel inquired upon his arrival at Michael’s side.  
  
“Indeed, I did, Castiel.” Michael beckoned his younger brother. “There is a Mission for you if you accept.”  
  
“I accept.” Castiel said immediately.  
  
Michael chuckled,  
“I have not even told you what is yet.”  
  
Castiel smiled at him,  
“Whatever my Mission is, I am happy to serve Our Father.” Michael rested a hand on Castiel’s shoulder,  
  
“I admire your devotion Castiel, but I do have to warn you, I do not know how long your Mission may take. It could be many years.”  
  
“I am willing, Michael. What do you require of me?”  
  
Nodding, Michael began to explain,  
“Your Mission is a human, a charge.” Michael brought Castiel forward, enough to view the collection of souls upon the Earth from the plane they stood.  
  
Michael took Castiel’s hand and sought Dean out again.  
He found Dean where he had before, moving determinedly across tarred desert roads in his beloved machine.  
  
“This human?” Castiel asked, curiosity tinging his expression.  
  
“Yes, Castiel. This is Dean Winchester.”  
  
“What am I to do with him?”  
  
“Nothing. Just watch him. And wait.” Michel directed Castiel’s attention back to himself, “And this is important Castiel, watch what you will, study his life, learn his soul but do not, and I repeat, do not interfere.”  
  
“Watch over him but do not interfere.” Castiel repeated.  
  
“Exactly.” Michael said, pleased. “I will ask you to report to Zachariah if anything significant happens.”  
  
“What would you consider significant?” Castiel asked.  
  
Michael thought for a moment,  
“Should he conceive children, acquire serious illness or injury or his Death. These would be the most significant.”  
  
Castiel nodded, taking note of the list.  
  
“When there are further orders,” Michael continued,” You will be informed.”  
Castiel nodded again, turning his attention back to the mortal.  
  
Michael also gazed upon Dean again, the young man’s emotions and thoughts  
colouring his soul a brilliant array.  
Michael turned to say something else but stopped, struck be the new shine of Castiel’s Grace as he watched Dean Winchester chase the sun.  
  
Michael smiled. Yes; Castiel had been a good choice.  
  
Content Castiel understood his orders, Michael took his leave.  
As he prepared to take flight, Castiels voice stopped him,  
“Michael,”  
Michael turned to his brother, “Thank you for the honour of this Mission.”  
  
Michael smiled at him,  
“You’re welcome Castiel. I believe I have Chosen well.” _On both accounts_ , he did not add.  
Castiel smiled at him again as Michael spread his wings and flew.  
  
Castiel turned his gaze to Dean again. Watched the human use his car to practically fly past the road sign on the deserted highway, proudly proclaiming in the waning dusk;  
 **Next Exit  
Palo Alto**

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving fic from my lj days.


End file.
